


Squeeze Tight and Breathe Deep

by TheAsexualofSpades



Series: Quarantine Drabbles [91]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gavin Reed Backstory, Gavin Reed Being Less of an Asshole, Gavin Reed Needs a Hug, Gavin Reed Not Being an Asshole, Gavin Reed Redemption, Gavin's cat is named Mia, Gen, Good Parent Hank Anderson, Human Trafficking, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Light Angst, M/M, Protective Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Protective Gavin Reed, Protective Hank Anderson, Protective Parent Hank Anderson, Protective Upgraded Connor | RK900, RK900 is named Nines, Soft Gavin Reed, it's mentioned once for like 2 seconds, wow there are a lot of those tags i did not make up a single one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:39:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24878587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsexualofSpades/pseuds/TheAsexualofSpades
Summary: The child comes into the interrogation room and immediately sits down in the chair. They don’t move. They don’t speak, except to say ‘I don’t know’ when someone asks them if they’d like a glass of water.There isn’t a detective in the place who’s managed to get anything out of the child. Even Connor and Nines can’t do anything.Then Chris suggests they have Gavin talk to them.
Relationships: Connor & Gavin Reed, Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900, Hank Anderson & Connor, Hank Anderson & Gavin Reed, Hank Anderson & Upgraded Connor | RK900, Upgraded Connor | RK900 & Gavin Reed, Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed
Series: Quarantine Drabbles [91]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677655
Comments: 15
Kudos: 437





	Squeeze Tight and Breathe Deep

**Author's Note:**

> look i'm here for any character backstory i can get my hands on okay

Fandom: DBH

Prompt: “Stay. Please?”

* * *

Gavin glances up and frowns. Tina shakes her head minutely at him as she walks by with a group of officers, someone hidden in the middle of them. He turns around in his chair, squinting after them. When Hank follows them, Gavin catches his eye and stands up.

“What’s the ruckus for?”

“There was a kid,” Hank says. Gavin snaps to attention. “At the scene. Had thirium on ‘em.”

Gavin curses under his breath and glances toward the interrogation rooms. “What the hell happened?”

“S’pposed to be an android theft,” Hank says, shoving his hands in his pockets, “then Connor saw the thirium trail and…”

Hank jerks his head toward the room. “Didn’t talk the whole way over. Couldn’t find any other family.”

“You ran ‘em through the system and you found nothing?” Gavin frowns. “The hell does that mean?”

Hank shrugs. “Could mean any number of things.” He pauses, squinting at Gavin. “The fuck you care?”

“Eat shit, asshole,” Gavin mutters, dropping back down into his chair. Hank huffs and turns away, making for his desk. “Wait.”

Hank stops, glancing over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow. Gavin worries his bottom lip between his teeth, fingers tapping out a nervous rhythm against the tabletop.

“You tell me this,” he says lowly, looking up at Hank, “could you tell?”

Hank sobers, straightening up a little and looking at Gavin properly. “I dunno, kiddo.”

“Bullshit. You can always tell. _You_ can always tell.”

“I know, Gavin,” Hank says, coming a little closer so the rest of the precinct doesn’t overhear, “but I’m tellin’ you, I _don’t know._ It’s something, as I’m sure you figured out, but I dunno what it is yet.”

Gavin glances down the hallway one more time before hodding sharply. Hank starts toward his desk, chucking his heavy overcoat across the chair, before heading to the interrogation room.

Gavin turns back to his desk, trying to bury himself in this goddamn case file again but he can’t fucking focus. The image of a scared kid being herded across a police station by a crowd of officers ain’t sitting right to him. And both TIna and Hank know it.

Gavin bites out a curse under his breath, doing his best to glare a hole through the table. Fucking _prick_ Anderson, asking him why the fuck he cared. He knew damn well why Gavin fucking cared.

“Detective Reed?”

Gavin _does not_ jump out of his skin and spill his coffee, he only nudges the cup _slightly._ He looks up. “‘Lo, Nines.”

Nines nods, tilting his head to the side when Gavin doesn’t respond as he normally would. “Is everything alright, Detective?”

Gavin glances over Nines’ shoulder. Connor, it seems, had come in behind Nines and Gavin watches him walkacross the precinct. Nines follows his gaze, LED turning blue in understanding.

“Ah. You have heard about the case.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Gavin mutters, turning back to look up at Nines. “Can you tell me any more?”

Nines perches on the edge of Gavin’s desk, scrupulously avoiding sitting on any of his paperwork. “What do you know already?”

Gavin jerks his head toward the other end of the building. “Kid came in surrounded by officers. Tina didn’t even talk to me. Anderson said it was a theft call, then Connor spotted the blue blood and found the kid.” He pauses, clenching his fist. “Said the kid was covered in it.”

“Not covered,” Nines corrects, “the thirium covers no more than 5% of their total surface area.”

“Alright, alright.” Gavin turns around properly. “So they ain’t drenched in the shit, good for them.”

He fiddles with his pen for a few seconds. “You got any history on the kid,” he asks, hoping for the casual tone he _knows_ he’s not getting—not that his android partner can’t read his fucking heart rate and _knows_ how on edge Gavin is right now—“any family?”

Sure enough, Nines cocks his head, LED spinning yellow. “I do not understand your interest in this, Detective.”

Gavin scoffs. “Thought you tin cans did your homework.”

He brushes Nines aside, turning back to his case file. Damn thing. He swears half the sophisticated lingo doesn’t need to be in here, it’s not like the _cops_ misunderstanding what they’re doing is gonna help anyone—

Nines makes a soft noise of understanding and Gavin squeezes his eyes shut. _Shit,_ why did he have to say that? The last thing he needs right now is some plastic prick dredging up old memories. At this rate, he’s never gonna finish this fucking file.

Nines stands up. He doesn’t sit down at his desk. Gavin frowns. Maybe he’s gone to help Connor? His brain feels like it’s running on a tenth of its normal processing power; everything's moving like fucking molasses.

A steaming cup of coffee is placed next to his elbow.

Gavin stares at it like it’s some radioactive bullshit, before staring up at Nines. Nines’ concerned expression softens slightly and he smiles.

“It’s just coffee, Detective,” he says quietly, “nothing else.”

Gavin takes it warily, Nines watching as he takes a sip. It’s perfect. Of fucking course it is. He raises an eyebrow. “…not that this isn’t appreciated—“

“You’re welcome, Detective.”

“—but… _why?”_ Gavin flaps a hand in Nines’ direction. “First time I asked you to do that you slammed me against the fucking wall.”

“The first time you ‘asked’ me,” Nines replies cooly, “you called me an over-glorified toaster oven and attempted to punch me.”

…yeah okay fair.

“But this time,” Nines continues, “you did not ask. You did not have to. Given your current state of emotional distress because of—“

Gavin looks up sharply.

“…reasons,” Nines amends, “I concluded that this would be a…helpful gesture.”

Gavin takes another sip, dropping his gaze to his hands. He refuses to let them shake. “…your conclusions are accurate.”

“You sound surprised, Detective.”

“Fuck off,” Gavin mutters, hiding his smile behind the rim of the cup. Judging by Nines’ satisfied smirk, it didn’t work. Eh, you win some you lose some.

Then Nines’ LED starts circling yellow, yellow, yellow. He blinks rapidly.

“Whoa, whoa,” Gavin says, “what’s up, tin can?”

Nines blinks one more time, his expression changing as he looks down at Gavin.

“Connor has asked that _you_ join them,” he says quietly, as if the softening of his tone makes that news any less of a surprise to Gavin, “I am happy to tell them you cannot.”

Gavin shakes his head resolutely, getting up and putting the cup of— _perfect—_ coffee down. “Nah. I’m on it.”

“Gavin—“

Gavin stops when Nines reaches for his elbow, his LED still spinning yellow. The look of open concern on Nines’ face makes him relent.

“I’ll be fine,” Gavin reassures, “this ain’t my first time doin’ this. I’m a professional.”

Nines searches his face, apparently coming away satisfied but following Gavin to the back of the precinct.

“You ain’t gotta come with, tin can, I—“

“It is more for me than it is for you,” Nines interrupts smoothly, giving Gavin’s arm one last squeeze.

_Stupid androids with his stupid face making me feel all warm and fuzzy._

Gavin pushes open the door. Game face on.

Connor stands in the corner. Ben and Hank sit at the table. Through the one-way mirror, Gavin can see the kid, Tina crouched down beside them, talking quietly.

“Nothing?”

Hank shakes his head. “Nada.”

“You find anything on ‘em yet?”

“Their DNA matches a child from a family living in the middle of Detroit,” Connor says, “though the record of the parents is…interesting.”

“I’m gonna need more than that.”

“Connor means it’s hidden behind walls of bullshit,” Hank says, “tied up in more red tape than that prick Perkins.”

Gavin curses. “Can you get to it?”

“I’m working on it,” Connor says, “but it would be more useful if we could make sure the child is _safe_ before I do.”

“We just gotta get ‘em talking,” Hank says, turning around to look at Gavin, “just to make sure they ain’t in any sorta danger. We called the people we could: an aunt and two cousins.”

“And you haven’t found _anything?_ ”

Hank ignores Connor’s confused look. “Not from the aunt and the cousins, Gavin.”

Gavin nods sharply, shucking off his leather jacket, tugging the sleeves of his sweater down his arms.

Connor watches Gavin go inside, LED turning yellow. He looks back at Hank who shrugs.

“Reed’s got a history.”

Connor flicks his gaze over to Nines. His brother pings him over the network, a file sliding neatly into his HUD. Two cases, one from 2008 and one from 2032.

“A child trafficking ring,” Connor murmurs, his LED spinning wildly as he looks at the 2032 file, “…and…”

“The first time I met him,” Hank mutters, picking up the slack when Connor starts reading the 2002 file. “Reed may be an asshole but he knows his stuff when it comes to this.”

Gavin presses his hand to the panel and the door slides open with a soft hiss. He swallows, then lets his shoulders drop a little and makes his voice soft and low. He can do this.

“Hello?”

The child doesn’t look up.

“Hi. My name is Gavin. Is it okay if I come in?”

Waits. He looks around the room, looks at the table, makes sure not to stare at the child for too long. After a few minutes, the child nods.

“Thank you.” Gavin steps into the room, staying close to the door. It slides shut, so he leans against the wall next to it. Waits a few more seconds. “Is it okay if I come sit with you?”

Waits again. This time, it takes less time for the child to nod. “Thank you.”

He takes the chair and starts to move it. A horrendous grinding _screeeeech._

Before he can blink, the child scrambles up onto the table, eyes wide, knuckles gripping the edge.

“Whoa, whoa, easy, I’m sorry.” Gavin takes his hands off the chair and steps back. “I didn’t mean to make that noise. I’m sorry, are you okay?”

He waits a few seconds.

“I’m not angry with you, you haven’t done anything wrong,” he murmurs, “are you okay?”

The child looks up, frightened, until they see Gavin’s hands raised off the chair, held away from them. Then they shakily nod and huddle cross-legged on the table.

“Would you like me to stay over here or is it alright if I come back over?”

The child shakes their head, their eyes widening.

“Okay,” Gavin says quickly, “I’m okay with staying over here. Thank you for telling me.”

They subside into another silence, but it’s more comfortable. There’s muffled air blowing in from the vents and the lights buzz softly. Gavin keeps his hands open and in view, looking at the floor until he notices the child looking in his direction.

“I’m still here. I’m not moving. Is…” he hesitates, “is it okay if I talk to you while I’m in here?”

The child hasn’t moved their gaze from his…shoulder? Arm? Then, slowly, they reach out and open their hand.

“…do you want me to come over?”

The child opens and closes their hand.

“Okay. I’m gonna start walking over, is that okay?” Gavin starts moving slowly. “If you want me to stop, you tell me and I will.”

He approaches the edge of the table and crouches down, making himself smaller and less of a threat. When he gets there, the child reaches down to grab his shoulder.

“I’m here.” He looks down, sees the child running their hand slowly over the pattern of his sweater. Their eyes are focused, concentration clouding out some of the fear. “Do you like my sweater?”

They nod shyly.

“Do you want me to move so you can see more of it?”

Nod. Gavin draws in a slow breath. Good…progress.

“Is it okay if I come sit up there with you?”

They don’t answer. Gavin waits. And waits. His legs are starting to cramp but still, he waits. Then the child nods again.

“Thank you. I’m going to stand up now, okay?”

He rises, slowly, making sure the child can keep their hand on his shoulder. As his head passes theirs, it drifts down to clutch the edge of his sleeve.

“Is it still okay if I sit up here?” He taps the table lightly with one hand. No response.

Wait, the child tugs his sleeve.

Is…is that a yes?

Only one way to find out.

“Okay…” Gavin mutters, mostly to himself, “okay.”

Slowly, he turns so his back is towards the table, sitting on the edge and gingerly scooting until he’s mirroring the child’s position. “Hi.”

The child’s hands wander over the patterns on the sweater’s shoulders and sleeves.

“I’m glad you like my sweater. I like it too. Keeps me warm. And it gives me something to hold,” he adds, seeing how the child grips the hem of it like a cuddle toy.

He takes one of the looser bits of fabric around his waist and scrunches it up in his fist. The fabric gives slightly, soft in his hand. He offers it to the child, who takes it and squeezes. Their eyes widen and they do it again and again.

“Fun, right?”

They keep squeezing until their hand grows tired and they just hold the sweater. Gavin looks the child over. Connor’s already scanned them, with whatever fancy android bullshit he’s got, and it’s unlikely he’ll see anything he hasn’t.

Then again, he’s got some…practice at this.

But Hank’s right. Past the fact that there’s obviously _something,_ he can’t tell what it is.

“Can you tell me your name, please?”

The child doesn’t move.

“My name is Gavin,” he repeats calmly.

They still don’t move. Then —

“…Charlie.”

“Nice to meet you, Charlie,” Gavin smiles, “I’m glad you like my sweater.”

Charlie holds the fabric tightly.

“Charlie, is it okay if I ask you a question?”

Charlie nods.

“Do you have a favorite color?”

“…blue.”

“That’s a good favorite. I like blue too. I like looking at the sky when it’s all blue.”

“…rain.”

“Do you like the sky when it rains?”

Charlie nods.

“I like the rain too. It gets cold outside, but I like to go watch, so I have my sweater.” Gavin gives the fabric a squeeze. Charlie squeezes back.

“…sound.”

“The sound? The sound of rain?”

Nod.

“I like the sound a lot. I think it’s comforting.”

“…color.”

“Color? The color of rain?”

Shake. Charlie uses their other hand to gently pat Gavin’s arm. “…color.”

“Do you like the color of my sweater?”

Shake. Firmer pat. “… _color._ ”

“Are…are you asking what my favorite color is?”

Nod. And a little squeeze.

“Hmm…that’s a good question. I like…” Gavin thinks. Why don’t older people have favorite colors? Damn shame. “…purple. I like purple.”

“…dog.”

A frowns. Maybe he misheard. “‘Dog?’”

Nod.

“Is that your stuffed animal? A purple dog?”

Shake. “…dog.”

“Is…is there a dog that has something purple?”

Nod.

“Is this a neighbor’s dog? Someone who lives close to you?”

Shake.

Gavin thinks. Purple…dog…purple dog…

“Is ‘Purple Dog’ the name of something?”

Nod.

Gavin’s about to ask another question when he notices Charlie’s hand shaking. Okay, that’s enough of that, then.

“Thank you for answering my questions, you’re very kind.”

The tremors lessen.

“Is there anything you want to ask me?”

Charlie’s quiet, then shyly tugs on his sleeve again.

“Do you want to wear my sweater?”

Shy nod.

“Okay. I’m going to have to move to get it off, okay?”

Slowly, Gavin carefully peels himself out of the sweater, letting Charlie keep hold of some of the fabric until he’s fully out of it.

“There. Would you like help putting it on?”

Charlie’s staring at his arm.

…it that a yes?

“Is…it’s okay. I’ll be okay, it’s not that cold in here.”

Charlie grabs his wrist. No, no, fuck no, they’ve gotta let go…

“Uh, can you let me go, please?”

They don’t.

Gavin swallows, fighting down the instinctive response to _get out._ “Please…please let go of my wrist. You can hold onto my arm or my hand, but please let go of my wrist.”

They still don’t. Fuck it.

“I’m going to move your hand, okay?” Gavin carefully moves their fingers until they’re holding onto the upper part of his forearm. “Okay. You can hold there if you want.”

“…wrist?”

“I…uh, I don’t like having my wrists touched.”

Charlie frowns. “…wrist.”

“It’s, uh, something that makes me feel really uncomfortable, so I don’t like it when people do it.”

“ _Wrist._ ”

Gavin looks down. Charlie’s staring at…oh.

“Are you asking why there’s a butterfly on my wrist?”

Charlie nods.

_Shit._

“Well, uh…I like butterflies. They help me.”

Charlie tugs on the sweater. Even though he’s no longer wearing it, Gavin knows that’s not good enough.

_Ah, shit. Fuck it._

“Do…do you know why people cry sometimes?”

Charlie frowns and tugs the sweater a little closer to them. They squeeze Gavin’s arm.

“When someone…feels something really strongly, their body needs some way to release that emotion. Crying is one of those ways.” Gavin closes his eyes, trying to get his words in order. “It’s…it’s like someone’s way of resetting, getting all of the emotion out, so it’s no longer inside. Does that…does that make sense?”

_Jesus,_ he sounds like his fuckin’ therapist.

Charlie nods. Okay, easy part over.

“When…when I was younger, nobody told me that.” Gavin hesitates. “They told me crying is bad. It’s not bad, I know that now, and _you_ should know that too. Crying is natural, it’s how the body deals with emotions.”

Charlie nods.

“But when I was younger, everyone told me it was bad. That I shouldn’t do it. Which isn’t true. But I…trained myself not to cry. Or to stop crying, or to hide it. And now…”

Gavin takes a deep breath.

“Now it’s really hard for me to cry. Which isn’t healthy. So I started to do unhealthy things to help get all my emotions out. The butterfly helps remind me it’s okay to have emotions, that it’s okay. The butterfly helps me be healthy. Does…does that make sense?”

Charlie nods. “…happy?”

“Are you asking if the butterfly makes me happy?”

Nod.

“Well, it’s not always that easy. But yes, it does help me be happy.”

“…butterfly.”

“Yes, the butterfly.”

Charlie lets go of the sweater and pats their arm. “Butterfly.”

“Would…would you like a butterfly too?”

Charlie nods.

Gavin swallows. “Well, when we go outside, I’ll ask if I can draw you a butterfly.”

Charlie nods and cuddles the sweater, playing with the patterns. Gavin sits very still, watching the child. That went…okay. Right?

_Fuck,_ he’s out of practice.

The door slides open and Charlie freezes, drawing their knees up and hiding behind the sweater. Gavin turns.

“It’s okay, Charlie, that’s my friend. His name is Nines, he won’t hurt you.” _And he should fuckin’ know better than to pull something like that._

“Hi.” Nines waves from the door. “Gavin, they’re here.”

Gavin nods. “Charlie?”

Charlie peeps out from behind the sweater. 

“Your cousins, the ones who live across the city, they’re here to take you home. Would you like to see them?”

Charlie nods and slowly tries to move off the table.

“Would you like me to help you down?”

Charlie shakes their head, hopping down clumsily and waiting until Gavin gets off the table. They hold out their hand shyly.

“Would you like me to hold your hand as we walk out?”

Charlie grabs his offered hand and bundles the sweater up to their face.

“Clear everyone out,” Gavin mutters to Nines, “this walk’s gonna be hard enough.”

“Already done,” the android says back. As usual.

“Thank you.” Gavin turns back to Charlie. “Are you ready?”

The walk is difficult, but Gavin keeps talking quietly, drowning out the low noises of everyone else, until they round the corner and Charlie sees her cousins.

The smaller ones rush towards her, stopping close to Charlie and beginning to talk excitedly.

“You get to come stay with us, Charlie! That means we get to have sleepovers every night!”

“And you get to stay in my room!”

“No, in my room!”

“We have the same room!”

“Oh, yeah!”

Charlie looks more comfortable; they’re letting the sweater go little by little.

“Kids, come back. Let Charlie walk over.”

The two go dashing back to who Gavin guesses is their mother, Charlie’s aunt. She’s talking to Hank and Connor. Charlie starts walking over slowly, leading Gavin by the hand. Then they stop.

“…butterfly?”

_Right_. “Do you still want me to draw a butterfly for you?”

Nod.

“Why don’t we ask your aunt where we should put it?”

Nod.

“Okay, let’s go ask.”

Gavin leads them slowly over to Charlie’s aunt who crouches down to say hello. Charlie shyly points to the butterfly on Gavin’s arm, and he explains — briefly — what he’d told Charlie about his butterfly, and that Charlie had expressed interest in wanting one.

“Why don’t you put it on your arm, like he has?” Charlie’s aunt takes an offered dry-erase pen and hands it to Charlie.

Charlie turns and shyly offers it to Gavin.

“Would you like me to draw it for you?”

Nod.

“Okay.” Gavin bends down. “Is here okay?”

Charlie nods, and Gavin carefully draws a simple butterfly. “There.”

“Thank you for talking with her,” Charlie’s aunt says. “Charlie’s not very fond of police stations.”

“Oh, no problem,” Gavin says. “To be honest neither am I,” he stage-whispers to Charlie who squeezes his sweater. “I think you’ve got to go now.”

“Yes, Charlie, let’s go home. Say goodbye.”

“Good — “ Gavin expects Charlie to just nod or squeeze on the sweater. He _doesn’t_ expect the child to hug him. “Oh, jeez, kid, you’re welcome.”

Charlie holds him tight for a few seconds and then lets go. Gavin waves. “Goodbye, Charlie.”

“And, Charlie,” their aunt continues, “do you think we should give the nice man his sweater back?”

“Eh, they can keep it,” Gavin says, “I’ve got plenty.”

“You’re very kind.” Charlie’s aunt shuttles them outside. Charlie looks back one more time. Gavin waves. Then they’re gone.

“Wait, so you’re just gonna _let_ them have your sweater?”

Gavin raises an eyebrow at Hank as he stands up. Hanks shakes his head.

“I moved that thing an _inch_ one time and you fuckin’ hissed at me like a goddamn cat.”

“Language, Anderson,” Gavin says, smirking when Hank levels an ‘are-you-fucking-serious’ look at him, gesturing to Charlie, still not all the way out of earshot yet.

Hank just rolls his eyes, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. Gavin frowns, looking back and forth between him and Connor, who’s LED is spinning faster than a goddamn disco light.

“What’s up with you two?”

Hank shrugs but even _Gavin_ can tell it’s forced as hell. “Didn’t know you still liked butterflies, Gavin.”

Ah.

Well, shit.

Gavin sighs, absentmindedly rubbing his arms. “Well, now you do.”

“Uh-huh.”

Gavin glances at Connor who is absolutely _riddled_ with micro-expressions. “Lemme guess,” he says, gesturing to Connor’s LED, “you looked it up.”

Connor nods sharply.

Gavin frowns. He glances back and forth between the two of them. “Are you…are you guys _worried?_ ”

“Yes,” Connor blurts out, “very much so.”

Gavin bites back a curse. “You don’t gotta be. I’m a big boy, I can take care of myself.”

Judging by the look on Hank’s face, that ain't gonna cut it.

“You’re already going back into overprotective dad mode,” Gavin sighs, “aren’t you?”

“Not just me.”

Gavin frowns. Then he looks at Connor. “You too?”

“According to Hank,” Connor says, the tiniest bit of humor coloring his voice, “I may in fact be worse.”

Gavin sighs. “Great. Am I gonna have two worried assholes for the rest of the day?”

“Three.”

Gavin turns around. Nines is there, holding out his leather jacket. He squints. Ah, _fuck._

Nines’ LED is red.

“Jeez,” he mumbles, pulling the jacket on, “you guys don’t gotta be so worried, I’m _fine._ ”

“You will forgive us if we are not inclined to take you at face value,” and _shit_ Nines must really be upset ‘cause he ain’t using contractions anymore, “especially considering your own stress levels are well above average.”

“My resting heart rate registers as a panic attack.”

Hank snorts. Nines just frowns. “No, it does not.”

“Look, if I wanted a job where my stress levels stayed down, I sure as hell wouldn’t be working here.”

“Gavin,” Hank says and wow, Gavin’s _fucked_ because Hank’s using his soft Dad™ voice, “your hands are shakin’, son.”

“Wait, are they?” Gavin looks down. “Oh. Yeah, they are.”

Come to think of it, now that he’s focusing on his hands shaking, his legs aren’t feeling to steady either. And is the fridge on the fritz again or is that ringing coming from inside his head?

“Gavin,” Nines’ voice comes from next to him, “ _Gavin._ ”

Smooth hands take his elbow and Gavin shakes himself, looking up at Nines’ concerned face.

“It’s almost time for you to clock out anyway,” Nines says, and oh shit _he’s_ using the Calming Voice™ now too, how bad does Gavin look? Damn, he _is_ out of practice— “please, let’s go home.”

Gavin swallows through his suddenly-dry throat. “Yeah, okay.”

Connor disappears to their desks, grabbing the stuff they need and following the other three out to the car. Hank opens the door and pushes Gavin none-too-gently into the back seat. Nines gets in the other side.

“You don’t need to drop me off,” Gavin says, “I can just—“

“You’re comin’ with me,” Hank says easily, “we’re getting burgers.”

“Hank,” Connor starts but Hank holds up a hand.

“Nope.”

“Burgers do sound great,” Gavin sighs, letting himself sink into the leather seats, “and it’s my trauma. I get to choose the comfort food.”

Hank snorts. “Burgers it is.”

The two in the front start bickering as Gavin closes his eyes. Blindly, he reaches out for his sweater before realizing, oh yeah, he let Charlie take it. Instead, he feels Nines’ hand knit through his. He blinks his eyes open to see Nines still watching him, concerned.

Gavin sighs. “You’ve got questions, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Nines says, “but they can wait. For another time.”

Gavin squeezes Nines’ hand. Nines cocks his head to the side, LED spinning yellow once before going to blue.

“I have noticed that it is helpful for you to have company when you are upset,” Nines says softly, “would you like me to stay with you for a while?”

Gavin smiles. Squeezes Nines’ hand.

“Alright,” Nines agrees, “then perhaps…if you don’t mind, shall I come say hello to Mia as well?”

“Stay,” Gavin murmurs, “please?”

Nines squeezes his hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come yell at me on tumblr while we're all in quarantine. 
> 
> https://a-small-batch-of-dragons.tumblr.com/


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